


Next Morning

by FHC_Lynn



Series: Broken Windows [31]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 19:53:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14088444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FHC_Lynn/pseuds/FHC_Lynn
Summary: Mirage was many things, but he will adamantly deny being cute.





	Next Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gaslight Dreamer (wyntirrose)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntirrose/gifts).



> tumblr prompt: things you said when you were drunk

For the record, one of his better days it had not been. Carousing with the commonality ranked just above being locked in the medical suite under the auspices of Ratchet's tender care. But there had been Sunstreaker, prodding him with the wicked side of his mouth. And there had been Jazz, paternally concerned about the state of his mind.

And then there had been Prowl swaying on the edge of the dance floor, blitzed in Skyfire's arms. If nothing else, _his_ antics would definitely escape notice with that going on. Unless he killed someone. If he drank fast enough, Mirage hoped to crater that ability before anyone stood in danger.

Certainly Wheeljack's own home brew did _not_ encourage one to let it linger on one's palate.

So when the axe split his processor and pointed needles jabbed into his optics the next morning, Mirage only moaned. Covering his optics with one hand and swallowing hard against the sick rumble of his tanks, he knew he had made a terrible mistake, all busybodies aside. As he tried to get his other hand under him, with a weak notion of being discreetly ill, he smacked his companion.

Dropping his hand in shock, he stared down the bed's other occupant. Anger boiled, and for a bad moment, Mirage felt the temptation to be sick on Smokescreen's face. Then it sunk in that no, Smokescreen had not invaded his room. Mirage sprawled without dignity on _Smokescreen's_ bed. And the mech had onlined unfocused optics to look up at him.

 _Well. Frag,_ Mirage thought. Scowling, he scrambled off the off bed, wiping his frame down. Nothing _felt_ wrong. Outside of a truly masterful hangover, that was. No odd pings, no mess. Not even a scratch, and he had not, apparently, even succumbed to nausea yet.

Although, that might still happen.

"I don't know _how_ or _why_ you dragged me all this way--" Mirage began. He pressed a hand over the low, narrowed end of his ventral plate. That extra warmth helped not one bit.

"Dragged? Ohh..." Smokescreen's laughter pounded across Mirage's aching head. Grinding his denta, Mirage whirled around and stalked to the door. "Aw, c'mon. you were so cute last night, mech. Don't run off-- Whoa!"

Mirage spun around, baring his denta now, entirely too angry to remember his manners. "I am _never_ cute!"

"I don't know. I thought it was cute, when you told me my wings were 'fascinating' and 'lovely'. Of course, you made a point about the ugly number scrawled over 'em." Smokescreen grinned, but the expression faded as he took in Mirage's horror. He held out a hand. "Come back over here, Mirage. I'll tell you the rest of what you said... You weren't all cute. But that's all right."

"What did I say?" Mirage wavered. Still trying not to be sick on Smokescreen's floor, still angry.

"I'll tell you one more. You said you were lonely. Come back over here, now? I'm not laughing."

"You're not hungover. It's not fair."

"Yeah, well. I volunteered to play chaperon at the party." Smokescreen held out a hand and waited. Mirage took a step, then looked at the door. Turning back, he met the other's gaze. A broad grin pulled the corners of Smokescreen's mouth up. "C'mon."


End file.
